Home » Classification » Bets and Dares » The Cocky Bitch (Part 2)

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I remember smiling. I’m smiling now, thinking about it. Your sobs as you felt those buzzing teeth desecrate your face were exquisite, a far-cry from the haughty queen you probably felt you where while you sculpted each bow. That thin red line of fur just disappearing, trickling down your cheek, sticking to your tears.

For a moment, the others were utterly shocked. One of the girls touched her own brows absently, almost sympathizing with you. I couldn’t have that. Thankfully, someone made a comment about how much of a freak you looked like, with all those spiky tufts and bare patches on your scalp, and your missing eyebrow. That broke the tension, and everyone was laughing again, leaving choruses of “Freak girl, freak girl, freak girl!” echoing in your ears. How priceless was that? Don’t you remember calling me a freak once, because I wore all those black clothes and kept my nails so long? How ironic.

But I hate uneven work, even in my destruction, and I told you so. Obviously, the other eyebrow had to go. I made sure to press the blades extra close, so your skull rattled with the vibration of the shaver. It took me a good ten seconds to sheer off that one line.

I stopped to “admire” the thing I was turning you into. Did you think about it then, too? Did it occur to you then how much of your ability to express yourself I’d raped away from you at that point? Too bad it wasn’t rape, huh? I mean, you did ask for this. You made the bet; you wanted this to happen. You stupid cunt.

I’ll never guess what made little Heather speak up at that point, to make her ask me if she could do some too. Wasn’t that just precious, though? Even I was taken by surprise. The other girls were still afraid of you, then, saying she should just sit down, shut up, because you’d hate them forever. But Heather didn’t care. I bet it had something to do with you stealing her boyfriend that time after the dance. Isn’t it comforting to know that there are others who hold grudges as well as I do?

Her speech was good, too. Remember it? About how you’d brainwashed them all into being your little bitch-slaves all those years, ridiculing them and ruining their social lives if they stepped even slightly out of line. About the weeks you harassed her for that one bad perm so badly that she had to lop off all her own hair until it grew out, and even still continued to tease her mercilessly for her boyish cut. She said she had a right to get even with you, just like I did. She said they all had a right to get even, and had a responsibility to get involved. That was absolutely priceless!

And she grabbed the clippers away from me and went to work, digging at your scalp, shaving away, laughing away the whole time. She laughed until she cried, blinding her, leaving haggard rows of stray hairs on your head, like a chemo victim. You looked so betrayed, and that’s exactly what you were. Completely betrayed.

And if you’d been less of a bitch, less of a haughty, proud, vain little snob, you might have bolted and welshed on your bet. You were hooked through the ego, and it was destroying you as surely as we were. I can’t help laughing about it now.

Remember Rob’s comment, about how much easier it’d be for you to suck dick, now that you wouldn’t have to worry about it spraying in your hair? Remember Angela laughing about how it’d just run off your bare cueball like water off a raincoat? That’s why I told Rob he could jerk off on your scalp. That’s why I ordered you down on your hands and knees, your head bowed, so he could spank off on your head. While he did, I whispered to Heather to go to my bathroom and bring me a few things.

How’d that first hot glob of cum feel on your naked head? It looked like half like a smear of mayonnaise, and half like a glob of spit. I thought it’d make a great shaving gel, so that’s when I let Heather go to work with the straight razor. She picked up clumps of your hair, using it to smear the semen around like a paintbrush, and following it with that cold metal blade. A creamy-white cueball. What a disgusting freak. I loved it.

That’s when I dumped out your purse in front of you. I was looking for your driver’s license, to compare the old and new you. That big mass of gorgeous red curls looked nothing like the smooth pale dome you sported now. I snapped it in half easily and dropped the pieces. You’d have to get a new one now, just the way you are. Remember Angie and Sarah fighting over your barrettes and hair-clips? The pretty rhinestone butterfly-shaped ones would’ve made fetching earrings on you, but you certainly wouldn’t be using them for anything else for a long time. Best we let them keep them, right? I’m glad you think so.

But that first night was far from over. Making you lie down on the table amid your clippings, we tied you down with bungee cord. Not that you could’ve run at that point. Naked and hairless like some lab rat. You’d have just gone ignored, spit on and reviled by all the people you called your friends. And you deserve every minute of it.

So we tied you down so we could finish you off that first night. The women impressed me, going after your eyelashes, those long, flirty lashes you’d batted at everyone from jocky hunks to lecherous teachers, all to get your way. They had to go. And Heather and Laura plucked them all out with those tweezers. The others worked on the delicate peachfuzz of your arms; I thought for sure you’d flinch when they suggested yanking them out with a waxing kit. You just shivered and screamed occasionally. Could it be you were getting turned on by your humiliation, you dirty slut?

The guys, however, insisted on going after the dense curls between your legs. I figured they would. And when their probing, pulling, violating fingers reported that you were indeed wet as a puddle, I couldn’t tell if it was from all the abuse you were suffering, or from the hard vibrating of the shaver. But they got it all smooth, didn’t they? Smooth as a baby’s ass.

When it was over, you had nothing to hide behind. Stripped bare of clothes, and now hair, you weren’t half as beautiful as you’d been a few weeks ago in school. You weren’t the fiercely bitchy girl everyone wanted and no one could have. You were a bald freak, hairless as a worm. You had a cunt and tits, but socially, you weren’t a woman anymore. You almost passed out when I made you look at yourself in the mirror, letting out that cry of anguish that seemed to come from your toes.

And not a one of us cared. That’s why we all laughed. And we kept on laughing while we made you clean up every rag of clothing, every ruined curl, and stuff them in your handbag to dispose of, and you did it all stiffly, numbly. You turned over your car keys and your cell phone almost willingly. You wouldn’t be going anywhere for at least a week..and you were all mine in the meantime.

What an ugly little serving worm you were going to be. A butchered Barbie toy.

But you were mine that first night. I sent them home, having played audience to the first part of your desecration. But I wanted a more personal revenge this evening. They all promised they’d be back bright and early tomorrow. And in return, I promised that you’d be there for anyone and anything I could think of. But that first night, you’d settle a couple old scores with me right off.

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